


And I'll miss you like you're dead

by Olivia_Ellinora



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:06:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivia_Ellinora/pseuds/Olivia_Ellinora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tried to give her a smile in return, an honest one, but she didn’t know how to. How do you smile when all light is gone? How to live when the man who’d known her better than anyone, the man who’d loved every her every flaw and understood her the best, lay in a bed at a German hospital unable to communicate, unable to breath on his own?</p><p>Canon-ish</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No home without you

**Author's Note:**

> The past few days have made me realize a few things:  
> 1\. I'm way too emotionally invested in this show + characters  
> 2\. 99% of me is sure that Q is dead  
> 3\. I don't wish Gansa and the rest of the writers a merry Christmas

How do someone cope with loss? Carrie sees herself as someone who had had her fair share of it but still she can’t answer the question, can’t solve the equation. She looks out through the small window, it’s a clear day and she can see the ocean beneath the plane. So widespread that it is the only thing in sight. Like he was. Or maybe not, she reminds herself that in a few hours she will be on American soil and she will have her daughter in her arms. She reminds herself that she has to be strong for her – be her mother. 

The guy on the next seat suddenly looks at her and she realizes that she’s uttered a strangled noise and she looks away, embarrassed. She covers her hands which are covered with scrapes and bruises. It’s something that she used to do when she was low – in the before – to feel something and escape from the numbness. It scares her that Maggie will see them and think that she’s fallen back, that Frannie will see them and ask. Carrie looks down at the ocean once again and it scares the crap out of her her. She’s alone and that frightens her to her very core.

He was there, that first time. She hasn’t thought about a lot; it was so natural that he would. He met her at Washington Dulles and his arm around her shoulders had felt like the only thing that prevented her world from falling into pieces. Her from collapsing. She had yelled at him when she reached that stage, telling him to leave her alone. Then she’d cried and told him again. He hadn’t left, he just sat with her. He didn’t say much, didn’t touch her but she hadn’t been alone then. He'd made sure that her fridge was filled with convenient foods like yoghurt and juice, removed all alcohol and came with take out food every damn day. He had had no reason to be there and she had been difficult and uncongenial to say the least. She couldn’t remember if she had even said thank you.

One day he'd found her on the Ellington bridge. Now she can’t even remember how she got there or what she wanted to get from it but she vividly remembers the look on his face when he saw her standing there and it had somewhat awoken her. It had started to rain and he had lowered her down beside the railing, cradled her in his arms while telling her how scared he’d been when she wasn’t home, how he’d gone to Maggie’s and finally to the bridge she had tried to jump off at 21. She had cried and it had been a turning point of some sort, she had let him in – let him care. With his support she eventually went back to Langley, opened up to her sister and father, grieved the life she’d lost. Now Frank rests in the soil, unable to hug her the way he did – so that everything felt okay. And the man who’d known her better than anyone, the man who’d loved every her every flaw and understood her better than anyone, lay in a bed at a German hospital unable to communicate, unable to breath on his own. 

Last night she emptied the drink preserves in the apartment she pretty much hasn’t used; first because they moved in with Jonas and then because she couldn’t not be in the hospital. She had given up on sleep anyway. It wasn’t much and it had reminded her of her first acquaintance with drinking: a crazy mix of wine that Jonas had brought the first time he’d come to dinner, aged scotch that the last tenant had left and a miniature bottle of vodka that she had found in the bottom of her suit case when she packed. It had been a relieve and a failure all at once and when she crouched over the toilet at 2 am in the morning it brought back memories of other nights in another life when her morning sickness made it impossible to keep food down and he had held back her hair, rubbed her back and come with Gatorade. 

When she stood up in the aisle to get off the plane she still felt the head ache pound but she couldn’t tell if it was because of the drinking or that she was in a vicious circle of not being able to sleep and when she finally did she was awoken by pictures of him being shot or throwing up blood over and over again. She hadn’t been able to eat, couldn’t even thin about food when he, the thought was hard to form, when he was gone.

Maggie waited for her and Carrie wondered who had told her when Carrie’s flight arrived, how much she knew. They approached each other slowly; Maggie unsure what to say and do, Carrie just to damn tired. The hug Maggie gave her was reluctant, like if she was afraid of breaking Carrie and the look she gave her was one of worry. Carrie realized that she most likely looked like a walking dead – she felt so anyway. Maggie looked the same, like if Carrie never left, and the sad half smile was the same as when she had asked her to take care of Frannie for awhile. Carrie tried to give her a smile in return, an honest one, but she didn’t know how to. How do you smile when all light is gone?


	2. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback, so set before chapter one.

Astrid closed the door behind her and Carrie was alone again. Alone with him. Before all this crap happened she had never really looked at him. Now she has spent hours and hours just watching him. His sharp cheek bones, the little scar on his chin. Astrid had been right – he was beautiful. In his current state he looked so at peace in her eyes; his regular ever-present frown was smoothened out and gave him an almost childish appearance. She wondered if that was how he would have been all the time if he had gotten out. If they had gotten out together.

 

_And we never happened._

The words that had been on her mind constantly since Dar Adal gave her the letter nineteen days ago. The letter that she always carried with her. She was aware that it was a goodbye, yet when she reads it she can only think of everything she never saw. Everything she lost without even knowing.

 

Carrie blamed herself for a lot of things, it was in her nature to do so. 9/11, Brody, her mother. Her life was made up on the ground of things she blamed herself for, but never before had she felt like this. Her whole being ached because of the guilt when she looked at the man in the bed and the worst part were that she knew that he didn’t blame her. That he physically wasn’t able to.

 

_I loved you._

She reached out a hand and carefully stroked away an errant lock of hair from his forehead, let her fingers linger for a moment to feel the warmth of his skin, reassure herself that he was alive.

 

Every time she touched him it felt like when she was eight and got an electric shock by a broken radio and in those moments she’s glad – relieved – that she didn’t have the courage to go through with it. She knew it was selfish and that he wouldn’t want this, wouldn’t wish it for his greatest enemy, but she needed him. Had never understood how much before he came back into her world again. And now he was gone. Gone in all the ways that mattered. But even so she couldn't let go. When it mattered she couldn’t do what she knew he would have wanted. He always put her first and so does she. _She_ wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she gave up on him.

_Just think of me as a light on the headlands, a beacon, steering you clear of the rocks._

 

“Carrie”, a nurse called out to her and touched her arm. She had fallen asleep in the chair besides Quinn once again and awakes, startled by the gently touch. The red haired lady, whom she really should know the name of, looks at her with worry evident in her gaze. She is kind. Carrie believes she was the one to put a tent bed in the room when she realized that Carrie wasn’t going to leave.

“If you’re not going home at least sleep in the bed, dear”

The thing is Carrie has no home in Berlin anymore, just an empty apartment, and the bed in the corner is too far away from him.

“I’m not leaving him”, she says, a little too loud and the women gives her a concerned look which leads to Carrie apologizing and agrees to rest for a moment. Carefully releasing her hand from his, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before she curls herself into a ball on the bed. She’s tired but she’s frightened to fall asleep because she’ll dream of the life they cold have had and then she’s going to wake up to the realization that it’s too late.

 

_But I wasn’t allowed a real life, or a real love._

 

She feels it all time, they feel sorry for her. The nurses who brings her food she can’t stomach. Maggie who calls and tells her everything that’s goes on with their lives. Mundane things.

 

Astrid, the woman she once couldn’t stand, who sits with them and brings her coffee. A woman who obviously cares a lot for Quinn but continues to put her feelings aside to comfort Carrie.

 

It’s Astrid that says it. Twenty-nine days after the letter, twenty-five since she tried and failed.  Days of talking to him without his sarcastic replies, days of sleeplessness, fear, guilt and regret. So much regrets.

“You’ll go home”, and the Astrid from Islamabad is back, the women who gets her way. Carrie was like that then too, now she’s just tired. So damn tired all the time.

“You can’t do anything more for him, but you can go home and be Frannie’s mum.”, Carrie hears that she won’t hear any rejections.

“He wanted you to live, Carrie”, and she hugs her then. It’s swift but honest, a transference of strength and somewhere deep inside Carrie knows that she has to go. Even though it breaks her heart.

 

Everything happens so fast after that. She calls Maggie and she gets so happy that Carrie’s stomach clenches with guilt. All that guilt. Someone, she doesn’t have the energy to ask who, purchases flight tickets. She spends the last hours at the hospital and the truth is she hasn’t anything else left in Berlin anymore. Only him.

“The irony in that”, she thinks to herself and something that can resemble a short laugh escapes her throat but sticks and leaves her with an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. It’s time to go, her mind understands it but her body won’t cooperate. She can’t get her limbs to move away from him. She reads the letter again. It’s all wrinkled now and the ink is smeared in some places. Because of her tears.

 

She say’s it aloud. The word that she should have told him two and a half years ago. Then it would have been a beginning, now it’s goodbye. Closure.

 

“Yes”

“I was a yes"

 

_Yours, for always now, Quinn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally CAN NOT get over how beautiful that letter was #bye


	3. Reincarnations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything changes...again

She wakes up by the sound of thunder and throws a glance through the windows, it’s dark but she can her the rain outside. It feels like it’s always raining these days. Knowing that she won’t be able to go back to sleep, Carrie raises and with quiet steps goes to check on Frannie. The door’s not entirely closed and when she peeks in her breath gets stuck in her throat. She isn’t there. During the moments it takes for her to reach Maggie’s room her heart thumbs against her chest as if it’s trying to escape, she’s practically ready to call the police when she sees her daughter sound asleep on her sister’s arm.

It hurts, more than she ever could’ve imagine. She spent so much time not wanting to be a mother, and then trying to be and believing that she had succeed. She can’t blame Frannie though. Carrie wouldn’t want to sleep besides herself either when she wakes up screaming and covered in sweat several times per night but this picture is the ultimate proof that she’s failed at every aspect in her life. It creeps in her skin and she knows she won't be able to go bucket sleep so instead of going back into her own room she escapes out in the night.

 

When the girls come down in the kitchen the next morning Carrie is already up and about, standing at the stove and making pancakes - the European thin version filled with sugar and grated apple. She will never be a good house wife but in Germany she learned so much that it doesn’t start to smell burnt as soon as she is less than ten meters from a kitchen.

Maggie gives her a look when she comes down and Carrie knows what it means. She is wearing make-up and is not dressed in an oversized sweatshirt – has clearly made an effort. And she’s cooking.

“I’ve been taking my meds”, she tells her sister in a quiet voice and she is rewarded with a smile.

“Good”

“I’m going to Langley today; can you take Frannie to kindergarten?”

“Sure”, Maggie answers without commenting on the fact that they both know that the times Carrie have done that since she came back two months ago can be counted on one hand. As can the times that Carrie has hugged her daughter or joined the family for dinner. But Maggie knows her sister, knows far to well that nothing gets better by pushing her – especially when she’s this fragile. The only one who ever got away with that was him, somehow always managing to tell her to get her shit together and at the same time breaking through her walls and comforting her.

 

When she serves Frannie pancakes she takes the opportunity to hug her tight, feeling the little girl’s warmth radiate and smiles when Frannie giggles as Carrie’s hair tickles her. She observes her for a moment and is taken aback by how much she’s grown.

“You know that I love you, right?”, she whispers in Frannie’s little ear and holds her breath waiting for the answer.

“Yeah, love you too”, Frannie says with that voice that’s both childish and mature at once. Carrie looks at Maggie then, still holding on to Frannie like if she’s the thing stopping her from drowning, and her gaze says “I’m sorry” better than words ever could.

 

The first time he wakes up he’s alone, or he thinks so anyway since his head hurts to the degree that he can’t open his eyes for more than a second at a time – the light hurts too much. He has no idea where he is, but it feels like he has been hit by a train.

Swallowing down the nausea he tries to get his memories together using the strategy he was thought when he first joined Dar Adal’s team fifteen years ago.

“My name is Peter Quinn, I’m in the black ops group within CIA”, was he that though? It felt wrong somehow, a memory trying to get to the surface. Something he'd once said: “Analyst, same as you”.

“I was born in Pennsylvania”, he was pretty sure of that one but had a hard time grapping more details. His head was a mess of different memories and he felt himself start to slip under again, the last thing he saw was a stroke of blonde hair.

 

The second time he managed to keep his eyes open for a little while and they meet a pair of familiar ones. Blue. Like the river that goes through Copenhagen.

“You’re awake”, she states matter of factly and a little smile lingers on her lips.

“They called yesterday and said that you had been awake but I had to see it myself before I could believe it.”

Seeing Astrid makes some memories come back to him. The mission, Carrie’s name in the box. Being shot. He tries to find his voice bur everything that comes out is a pathetic muffled sound and Astrid takes that as a queue to continue.

“You had me really worried you know, we all were”, she hesitates for a moment and then adds:

“Your girlfriend too, she was here always.”, he notices that her nickname for Carrie isn’t pronounced with sarcasm anymore. 

Other memories – older now he thinks. Wrapping his jacket over her shoulders while guiding her to safety. Bringing her one million cups of coffee at Langley. A phone call to Missouri.

He wants to ask about her. Where she is now, if she’s alright but he can’t seem to form the words. His mouth moves but nothing comes out.

 

He’s always liked Astrid, she’s fun and easy to talk to. They used to have mind blowing sex. Her intentions for being there’re good but he just want to be alone. He can’t take her happiness for his reincarnation. Is constantly tired of her, the doctors and nurses telling him that he’s a medical miracle. The only thing he’s ever wanted has been to lead a normal life, to fit in somewhere. Now he’ll be lucky if he can ever speak more than a few words again. Walking is pretty much out of the picture if the nurses’ whispers are true.

She asks if he wants her to call somebody, he knows that she means Carrie but plays innocent. Shakes his head and put on a smile, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he sees that she’s worried.

One part of him actually wants Carrie there and he's on the verge to tell Astrid that, wants to touch her if only to make sure that she actually exists more than in his dreams. But the rational part, the part of him who’s spent years evaluating situations and react according to that and the part that cares about her, can’t do that to her.

He’s seen her go through hell before and if there’s someone in the world who deserves happiness, who deserves a normal life, it’s her. She doesn’t deserve the guilt that seeing him will cause, so he shakes his head pretends to look like if his heart doesn’t break while doing it.

 

She recognizes the doctors voice immediately and feels the ache in her guts return with a vengeance, the ache that she’s just has started to suppress. Maybe it’s for the best though, when she knows that he’s gone for real she can let it go. Maybe he won’t be on her mind all day, hunting her in her dreams. She has prepared for it and is by no means prepared for what actually comes.

“Miss Mathison”, he greets her and goes on immediately.

“Peter Quinn woke up from his coma two days ago and he’s going to be transferred to a hospital just outside of New York.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A taaad more positive chapter a guess. Still depressing af to write though...  
> Love you all


	4. For our love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super tired so I'll proof read this in the morning.

At first she felt over the moon with joy. She had wandered around in a haze for the last three months – hell for the two last years to be honest – and now the sun shone again. She started to sing in the shower again, in her terrible off-key voice that always had caused Frannie to look at her with a face that said “Stop embarrassing me mom”. She took Frannie to a circus, Carrie used to hate those things, and the laughs they shared that evening were real ones. Then she started to think and he happiness faded away as fast as it had appeared, because why hadn’t he made the call. Or if he wasn’t able to - Astrid. Something wasn’t right and now when the first wave of relief had left she felt it in her guts. Something wasn’t right.

 

She called Astrid with hope that it all could be explained in some simple way. That tiny bit of hope got crumbled to dust with Astrid’s greeting.

“I’m so sorry, Carrie”, her tone was low and a bit raspy, as if she were holding back emotion, nothing like her regular high-pitched voice that once had bothered Carrie so immensely.

“Why”, Carrie asked, not really wanting to hear the reply.

“He’s different. Depressed doesn’t even cover it, the only thing he wants is that I don’t call you. His one request.”

Carrie takes a deep breath while hanging up, she isn’t mad at Astrid. No hard feelings are left there, she understands. But the pain is back, with a vengeance, because before she had had the letter, she had known that he wanted to be with her. He obviously didn’t know and somehow it was her fault.

 

The first thinks he notices is how nice it is that the people here talks English without an accent. He didn’t even know that it had bothered him before but it’s nice, feels a bit more like home. The whole place is nicer, the bed is more comfortable and he’s got a view over a garden that he imagines will bursts with flowers and color in the spring. It’s obvious that this is a place where you stay. He misses Astrid sometimes but mostly he enjoys not being a trouble for anyone, the goal is fulfilled. He tries to think as little as possible because when he does he wonders why he’s even here, why he’s trying to recover. He’s got nothing. Nobody. Whenever he can he sneaks in a pill under his mattress, for when it becomes to hard. It’s tempting more often than he admits to himself, but whenever he’s close to do it a picture of her floats to the surface. Pictures that he constantly tries to push away. Her smiles and frowns that he’s still fluent in. And he can’t.

 

He arrived at a Wednesday, she knows that since she terrorized both Astrid and various nurses and doctors for information. It takes until the following Tuesday until she’s worked up the courage to actually visit. She gets to the car but can’t seem to start the engine. Carrie’s never been a coward but it feels good that not all hope is gone, so she sits there. She tries again on Wednesday and manages the four hour ride up to New Jersey, even though every bone in her body screams at her to turn around.

 

“I’m here to see Peter Quinn”, she explains to the man in the reception. The Hospital, that according to their website, specializes in long-term rehabilitation of disabilities caused by accidents or traumas. That feeling she always gets at hospitals, the unease in her guts that makes her bite down her nails and scratch at her skin, is multiplied by a hundred.

The man smiles at her and she realizes that she probably looks like a frightened animal.

“Of course, ma’am. May I have your name?”

“Carrie Mathieson”

“And is Mr. Quinn expecting you?”

“No”, she responds while nervously drumming her fingers against her thighs.

“Alright, no problem. Have you been here before?”, he’s too nice and she feels like a flight risk. All she wants is to run back to her car, drive back to Virginia and either hug Frannie or have a really large drink.

“No”, she says again. The receptionist smiles. Again.

“Welcome then. I’ll make a call and someone will come and get you. Take a seat in the meanwhile.”, he makes a gesture for the pin chairs that reminds her about the psych ward way too much. She paces instead. Watches the clock. Five minutes. Ten. She tells herself to take deep breaths, not panic.

“Carrie Mathieson?”, a nurse asks and she is slightly startled by the voice. Reminds herself to breath. Soon she will see him again. She the rise and fall of his chest. That half-smile of his that seemed to be reserved for her.

“Peter is very tired; he’s had a rough day. I’m sorry”.

           

She sees the snowflakes on the car window. As a girl she used to love snow, it was something magical about it. Now it’s a reminder that everything changes yet nothing changes. The seasons will come and go and she will still be alone. Once again a possible life, a life that she actually thought was _it_ has been taken away from her. This time she had really been in the mind set, was willing to give it all she’d got. Wanted to build a life for them. Safety. Happiness. Love.

She hasn’t realized that she’s been crying until Frannie lightly pokes at the car window, she wears only her night gown and has got no shoes on. Carrie opens the door and drags her up in her lap, smiling through tears.

“Mum, are you alright?”, she asks with that voice of hers that is at the same time childish and wise beyond her years.

“Yes, honey”, she answers and it’s both true and not. Because she’s got Frannie but she’s lost him. Carrie opens the door and pulls Frannie in and up in her lap, letting her own little precious bundle of warmth transfer to herself.

“You’re so strong”, Frannie laughs and Carrie believes it. Even if it feels like she stands on the exact same place as she did five years ago – watching a returned soldier’s speech – she has changed. She is stronger, and if she can give of that strength to her child why wouldn’t she be able to fight for him. He loved her once, always looked out for her and never gave up. Even if it’s too late in many ways she has to try. To know that she’s done it all. That she didn’t give up.

 

_He has to know that she did love him._


End file.
